


Winter, Soldier, Bucky

by Jake_Matthews



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, M/M, Oblivious Tony Stark, Winteriron Holiday Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jake_Matthews/pseuds/Jake_Matthews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not quite Bucky Barnes, but no longer the Winter Soldier, the man Steve brings back to the Avengers facility would much rather have stayed on his own. The Soldier tries his best to fit in, but around the one man he most wants to befriend, he can't help but stare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter, Soldier, Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for http://dezinformatsia.tumblr.com/ for the Winteriron Holiday Exchange. Hope you like it! :D  
> (Also I planned this before the Civil War trailer and quite some time after seeing the Ant-man post-credits scene, so I went with Scott being brought in because Bucky's arm was hella mangled, so just... just roll with it, okay)

_April 7th 1974_

_Winter lined up his shot, aiming at the smartly dressed businessman just exiting the car. There was a stirring of… something… in the back of his mind. He pushed it away and moved his finger to the trigger. As he began to squeeze, his target lifted a small boy from the car. The boy coughed, the whole of his tiny body shaking. The something in the back of Winter’s mind shot to the front like lightning, and he jerked away from the rifle. He heard the gunshot go off, it had been too late to stop, but the rifle had been knocked out of position. Shaking, he pressed his eye to the sight again, forcing himself to look at the damage. The boy was crying, and a woman – his mother? – was on her knees, hands pressed to her abdomen. Bodyguards were swarming the target, who was trying to comfort his son, and help his wife, and locate the shooter all at once. There was no shot available, the opportunity had passed. But the Soldier didn‘t want to fire. He should be leaving, before he got caught, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the family he’d almost torn apart. Another cough broke through the sobs, and an image burst into the Soldier’s mind. A small blond boy, so tiny he looked like a strong breeze could blow him away, coughing so violently he looked like he would shatter. The soldier jerked back from the gun, away from the window. The handlers found him curled in a corner of the room, eyes wide staring at nothing, muttering broken apologies and scraps of half-remembered conversations. He did not have the presence of mind to resist as they removed him from the room and took him to be wiped._

November 5th 2015

He recognised two of the men escorting him. One of them he knew as Steve. Steve knew him, called him Bucky. The Soldier was able to connect that name with memories, but those memories didn’t feel like his. He didn’t feel like Bucky. But Bucky’s memories showed him Steve, showed him what kind of person Steve was. So he trusted Steve. And since he knew Steve was a good judge of character, he trusted the second man. He didn’t know this man’s name, but when the Winter Soldier was fighting Steve, he had also been fighting this man, and Steve trusted this man. So the Soldier deemed it safe to trust him too. Not completely though, so he would still keep an eye on him. The third man was a stranger to him, and he made sure to keep a close eye on that one. Not least because he was currently a fraction of an inch tall, climbing around on the mangled metal arm, studying it. The second man had brought this one in, after he and Steve had concluded that ‘Stark’ should not be involved. The Soldier didn’t know who Stark was. There was a Stark in Bucky’s memories, but those memories were old, so the Soldier guessed it was a different Stark. As far as the Soldier was concerned, he had no reason to trust the miniscule man investigating his arm, but he also saw that no good would come from trying to harm him. So he allowed the man to do as he wished, keeping an eye on him and doing what he could to keep the arm steady. Cooperation seemed like a good plan right now.

Steve led them into a building which was unfamiliar to the Soldier. He watched Steve as they entered, and concluded that he was bypassing some security protocol in order to bring the Soldier in. That lined up pretty well with Bucky’s memories: Steve had a complete disregard for rules when they were in his way. They marched through the building, through corridors deserted at this late hour. The Soldier committed the route to memory and made note of all possible escape routes they passed. Down some of the adjoining corridors he could hear people talking quietly, or the sounds of fists against a punching bag. Other than that, he didn’t take in much about the building itself, being too focussed on not dislodging the tiny man from his arm. He only began taking in the surroundings properly when Steve led them into a workshop and the man de-shrunk, taking in the workshop and presumably deciding what he needed to attempt to fix the arm. The Soldier had concluded that was this man’s purpose, but he doubted his ability to repair the arm. And it seemed the man felt the same.

“You know, I’m honoured that you brought me in, but-”

“I’m not calling Stark. Do what you can.” The shrinking man looked like he wanted to argue, but the Captain’s word was final, and the stranger seemed to know argument was futile. He positioned a seat for the Soldier next to a workbench, and pulled up a chair for himself while indicating for the Soldier to sit. The Soldier hesitated briefly, glancing at Steve for confirmation before seating himself with his arm on the bench. The stranger was nervous, but he took a deep breath and got to work.

_June 12th 1975_

_The rifle was all set up in the window of a second floor apartment. Winter got into position, locating his target. Something felt familiar about this target. Winter pushed away those feelings. Winter did not have feelings. He had missions. Targets._

_He lined up the shot, focussing his gaze down the sight. Just as he was about to fire, the target bent down. Winter stayed his finger, waiting until the man straightened again. There was a waist high wall next to the target, so he couldn’t see what the man was doing until he reappeared. Holding a small child. The target seemed disgruntled to be carrying the boy, but the woman who stood next to them seemed grateful, and her smile softened the expression of the target._

_Winter shook himself. He had a mission, and it did not involve observing the familial interactions of his target. He lined up the shot again, and placed his finger on the trigger. And the child looked over his father’s shoulder, seemingly right into Winter’s eyes, and waved._

_The Soldier staggered back from the window, eyes wide with shock. That boy…_

_He fled the scene, running away from the confusion of flashes of memories that seemed to belong to another man, cut through with memories of shooting the woman, the boy’s mother, the target’s wife… He fled his confusion, running to try and hide from what he’d done, what he’d almost done, what they’d made him do._

_It took three days for the handlers to find him, and six of them to bring him in to be wiped._

November 7th 2015

“Goddammit!” Dropping his tools, the stranger massaged his left hand, having just received a small shock from the mangled arm. The Soldier grimaced, as did Steve, having just re-entered the room to check in. His friend, Sam, nodded in greeting, having been left to guard the Soldier. He and Steve had been taking turns, not wanting to leave the Soldier but also not wanting to arouse suspicion.

“Having problems, Scott?” Steve asked.

With a grimace, the stranger replied, “My guess is, this thing is long overdue for a service. And every time I think I’ve got it close to being functional, it shorts out.” Picking up on Steve’s anxiety, he added, “I’m making progress though, it’s slow but still… progress.” The Soldier nodded in agreement. Although it didn’t look much better, in fact it currently looked worse than when they’d started, he could tell the repair work was actually repair work. Scott moved forward, clearly intending to resume work, but Sam interrupted, checking his watch.

“Actually, you should probably take a break now Scott. You’ve been working for almost four hours straight.” The Soldier nodded his agreement, having noted the signs of fatigue in the engineer. When Scott looked ready to argue, the Soldier pulled his metal arm away.

“You should rest now. The repairs can wait.” He hadn’t meant it to sound like a threat, but his voice was rough and his tone final. Scott swallowed nervously as he stepped back. The Soldier could feel Steve’s disapproval of his seeming hostility, but he ignored it. He was still figuring out who he was, and he would have preferred to remain on his own a while longer. Steve needed to learn to accept the fact that his friend was gone, that the Soldier was a very different man to the one who fell off a train almost 71 years ago.

The Soldier sat in stony silence while Scott headed over to sit with Steve and Sam. Steve passed Scott some food, then approached the Soldier with more food. The Soldier glared hard as he took it, hoping Steve would take the hint and leave him to eat in peace. A tense moment passed, where it looked like Steve would try and force his company on the Soldier, but Sam intervened, calling Steve back with the pretence of wanting him to back him up on the details of a story he was telling Scott. Once Steve’s back was turned the Soldier caught Sam’s eye and nodded his thanks.

With Sam being reason for Steve leaving him alone, the Soldier felt a little down when Steve prompted Sam to head out and train for a bit. He understood the necessity, having figured out early on that he wasn’t supposed to be there, and Steve was trying to keep him secret. But with Sam out of the room, there was nothing to stop Steve pestering the Soldier, especially now Scott was having a nap.

When Steve sat next to him, the Soldier tensed, expecting Steve to try and engage him in conversation, try and pull him out of his shell. But he stayed silent, and after a short while he began to relax.

They’d been sat there, in silence, for over an hour when they heard a commotion coming down the hall. They looked at each other, both considering the possibility that they’d been discovered. Steve stood and nudged Scott awake, shushing him as he woke. Scott sat up, looking around in confusion as Steve headed towards the door. The Soldier mimed at Scott to shrink, and he scrambled to get his gear on. Steve was listening at the door, and sprang back just before it swung open.

The Soldier caught a brief glimpse of Sam at the back of the crowd entering the lab and managed to count three strangers and one familiar woman before his attention was stolen by one very familiar figure at the front of the group. A man who wasn’t especially large but had a very big presence in the room. He was wearing a smart suit, looking like he’d just come from an important business meeting or some such. The Soldier found his eyes tracing the line of this man’s goatee, and admiring the way the light glinted off his dark hair. The man seemed to talk with his hands, gesturing wildly as he yelled at Steve. Confusion clouded the Soldier’s mind momentarily. He couldn’t match any of his memories to this man’s face, yet he was sure he’d seen him before. Steve was yelling back now, and the man did not look happy with what Steve was saying.

The Soldier realised he hadn’t heard a word of the exchange, and tried to focus in on the words. Involuntarily, his fist clenched, causing a loud metallic screech that silenced Steve and focussed everyone’s attention on the Soldier. He met the gaze of the man with the goatee briefly, then tore his eyes away, looking down at the mangled metal arm.

“That is a mess. What…?” He heard a rustle of clothing and footsteps, then the man appeared in his line of sight again, with his suit jacket removed and in the process of rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He glanced over at Scott. “You’re responsible for this? Come here, talk me through this mess you’ve made.” He continued to mutter under his breath, too low for even the Soldier’s ears to catch more than a few disjointed syllables. He sat on the stool Scott had been working from and picked up the abandoned tools.

_December 9th 1975_

_Winter skulked in the shadows, awaiting the target’s arrival. The target was supposed to be cutting through this alley on his way home from work, and Winter would strike from the shadows, and arrange the target and any companions in such a way that it looked like a mugging gone wrong._

_He had been waiting for some time, but there was no sign of the target. He could sense the handlers on the rooftop above beginning to shift impatiently. He was perplexed by their proximity for this mission, but had learnt the hard way, many times, not to question his missions. Having them so close irked him somewhat. Especially now they were beginning to murmur to each other, speculating as to whether the target was showing at all tonight. Winter looked up, briefly considering signalling them to be silent. He strained his ears past their conversation, trying to listen for the target’s approach._

_After a few minutes, distant footsteps reached his ears. He raised his left hand out of the shadows, the light from the streetlamps reflecting off the metal and silencing the handlers above. He dropped it to his side again, listening to the footsteps approach._

_Remaining in the shadows, Winter peered out of the alley. The source of the footsteps was still quite distant, but even from this distance he recognised the target. There was a woman to his right, and although there were cars blocking his view he could just make out a mop of brown hair between them._

_Winter retreated further into the shadows, ensuring they would not see him prematurely. As the family neared, the murmur of their voices became audible. Winter couldn’t make out any of what was said, until the boy burst into song._

_“Hush little baby, don’t say a word,_  
Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.  
An’ if that mockingbird don’t sing,  
Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.  
An’ if that diamond ring…” 

_The Soldier could hear the frown in the boy’s voice as he asked, “Mama, what happens to the ring?”_

_The woman laughed softly as she replied, “It turns brass, dear.”_

_The Soldier stood mesmerised by the boy’s voice as he continued the song, pausing almost every line now to ask his mother for clarification of the lyrics. His weapons returned to their holsters as he approached the end of the alley, remaining in the shadows but reaching a position where he could see the boy as he skipped along between his parents, singing happily. The Soldier recognised the boy, but he had no idea where from._

_The target made to turn down the alley, but the woman stopped him._

_“Howard, we can’t take Anthony that route. It’s not safe.” The target looked down at the boy, who’d finished his song now and looked back at his father with a smile on his face._

_“Of course, how silly of me.” He reached down and ruffled the boy’s hair as they turned away._

_The Soldier knew he should go after them, so he slipped out of the alley, silently stalking them. But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t harm them. He followed because he was expected to. He knew if he didn’t, the handlers would try something._

_He followed them for a short while, until he was sure the handlers had been left behind. Then he made to turn down a side street. He was stopped when the woman cried out, and turning he saw her hat blowing across the road. He was already on the opposite side of the road to them, so he reached out and snatched it from the breeze. It was a reflex action, and for a moment he was surprised with himself, but he walked across the road to hand it back to her. He couldn’t remember how to smile, but his mouth twitched as she thanked him, and he nodded. Then he left, heading down the side street and quickly breaking into a run, losing himself in the streets of New York._

_Despite their proximity during the mission, it took almost a week for the handlers to locate the Soldier. Their first attempt failed, and more men had to be brought in._

November 20th 2015

Steve’s insistence on calling him Bucky was really starting to get on the Soldier’s nerves. He didn’t identify with that name, not anymore. Yes, he had the memories, but they weren’t his. He wasn’t that man anymore. He could handle being called Barnes, which had absolutely nothing to do with Stark and if Clint ever mentioned that again the Soldier would not hesitate to knife all his bow strings. Just because Stark had been the first one to start calling him that, because ‘…I have to call you something while I work on this thing, so unless you’d rather I called you Winter…’ The sudden tensing of muscles and clenching of fists had dismissed that suggestion, so Barnes it was. The name had quickly spread among the other Avengers, who unlike Steve took heed of the clenched jaw and dead-eyed glare that being called ‘Bucky’ elicited from the Soldier.

The Soldier remained silent when Steve addressed him as Bucky, which tended to make Steve look like a kicked puppy, but the Soldier ignored that too. He stayed where he was, often flexing his metal fingers, which hadn’t moved so smoothly in decades. Apparently someone’s blood had seeped through gaps in the metal casing and dried in there, leaving a residue on the mechanics that had never been properly cleaned. Until Stark got his hands on the arm. All told, the Soldier was dubious as to whether it had ever worked this well before. Stark had done a spectacular job with it, and thanks to the Soldier’s willingness to allow him full access to the arm during the repairs (and the lack of attempted strangulation) he had also begrudgingly dropped his protest against the Soldier’s continued residence with the Avengers.

Stark had replaced almost the entire arm it seemed, and the Stark Industries logo was embossed on some of the plates. The Soldier ran his real fingers over one of these, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter ignoring Steve’s attempts to get him to make a decision about lunch. Distantly he wondered if Stark had considered how therapeutic it would be for him to have his arm marked with something so decidedly not Hydra.

He heard footsteps entering the kitchen, and from the way they paused in the doorway and the resigned sigh, the Soldier decided it must be Sam.

“Steve, I thought we discussed this. You’re not helping him doing this.” The Soldier’s mouth twitched in a brief smile. It was Sam. “Barnes, lunch?”

“Sandwiches,” he replied, looking up and shaking the hair out of his face. Steve’s kicked puppy expression was in full effect, and Sam had a raised eyebrow. Guessing at the question, the Soldier added, “What fillings do we have?” in a tone of voice which implied a previous question of ‘What kind of sandwich?’

Sam nodded his approval and gestured for the Soldier to rummage in the fridge while he got the bread out and started slicing.

“You gonna just stand there, Cap? Or are you gonna help out?” Most men would have pulled back at least a little under the glare Steve shot Sam, but the Falcon wasn’t fazed, grinning back until Steve rolled his eyes, cracked a smile, and went to search the cupboards for any other ingredients usable in sandwiches.

They made about two dozen sandwiches with a variety of fillings and then the Soldier perched himself on the countertop to eat. They’d managed a small amount of chatter as they worked, the Soldier still unused to conversation, and Sam had on several occasions had to shoot a glare at Steve for trying to use the wrong name. The Soldier was grateful for this, but he still hated that it was necessary.

Some of the other Avengers drifted in and out, grabbing a sandwich on their way past. Clint paused briefly to chat, and Pietro for the length of time it took to say ‘Meep, meep!’, a habit of his since Clint introduced him to Looney Toons. None of the other Avengers were especially comfortable being around the Soldier for prolonged periods, and for his part the Soldier fell silent while they were in the room. He was almost as uncomfortable around them as they were around him.

He was on his third sandwich when he heard Stark muttering to himself outside. He’d noticed it was a habit of Stark’s, constantly talking to himself. Sometimes he would pause as if expecting a response, then bite his lip and continue at a lower volume. Sometimes he seemed pretty comfortable talking to himself and letting the others hear it, other times he was trying to hide it, and had developed a murmur so low that even enhanced ears couldn’t eavesdrop. On this occasion as he approached the kitchen he didn’t seem to be making an effort to hide his mumblings, and the Soldier fell silent, listening. From the sound of it Stark was going over some calculations for whatever project he was currently working on. Barely even noticing the movement himself, the Soldier shifted his position so he was facing the door where Stark would appear any moment.

Stark interrupted himself mid-sentence to greet them as he entered, and he helped himself to a sandwich from the table. He examined the filling and raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting combination. Taste any good?” Without waiting for a response, he bit into the sandwich, and his nose scrunched up almost immediately. Swallowing he continued, “Mustard might’ve been an ingredient too far.” He contemplated it for a moment, then took another large bite. Mouth full this time, he said, “Still good though.” At least that was what the Soldier thought he was saying.

After a moment of watching Stark eat, the Soldier remembered his own sandwich, half-eaten in his hands. Keeping his eyes on Stark, he raised it up to take another bite, and regretted it almost immediately. Stark saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at the Soldier. His sentence trailed off into nothingness as he realised the Soldier was staring. Again.

He looked away from the Soldier and mumbled something barely intelligible, about having work to do, and left the kitchen swiftly, not saying another word within the Soldier’s hearing range.

The Soldier kicked himself internally, cursing his own stupidity. He still couldn’t remember this Stark, but he knew the man was familiar from somewhere. And the man was fascinating to watch, so every time he was around the Soldier stared. And every time Stark noticed he fled. As well he should, because although he might not have the memory of it the Soldier was well aware that he was responsible for the death of this Stark’s father, the Stark from Bucky’s memories. Guilt gnawed at his insides, alongside hurt, because part of him did want to make amends.

_May 18th 1976_

_A frown creased Winter’s brow as he tried to line up his shot. There were too many handlers in the room, and they kept throwing his focus. But they wouldn’t let him leave to try and get a better shot from another window. If he tried to claim the angle was wrong, they got up and followed him._

_Gritting his teeth, he tried to block them out and focus. He’d almost located the target on three occasions now, but they had broken his focus before he could confirm and engage._

_There! The man was crouched, Winter’s view partially obscured by a tablecloth, but he was fairly certain he had located the target. He just needed to get a clear view and then take the shot. He waited patiently, all his concentration focussed down the sight. At least with so many handlers around he could afford to not listen out for anyone approaching. After a few moments, the man moved back slightly, and Winter almost sighed in irritation. It was not the target. This man had a similar build and hair colour, but the face and hair style were wrong. Winter began to look away, returning to scan the crowd, when the man reached out a hand and a small child emerged from under the tablecloth. The boy’s mop of brown hair was familiar somehow, and drew the Soldier’s gaze._

_Somehow, the Soldier knew this boy, and knew he was the target’s son. Knew he would never harm this boy’s father. The man helping the boy out from under the table was not the target, but he had a similar look and being with the son…_

_It wasn’t until many hours later that the handlers realised the wrong man had been assassinated. They beat the Soldier, then wiped him._

December 31st 2015

The Soldier spent most of the day watching the New Year begin around the world, using the internet to track the global progression of midnight and watch firework displays in any country he could get live feed for. As midnight approached New York he crept into the room where the Avengers had gathered, along with a few trusted friends they’d gathered to celebrate the New Year with. Stark was mid-speech when the Soldier arrived, and didn’t notice the new arrival for almost ten minutes. The Soldier was grateful for this, because it was time in which he could watch Stark without feeling guilty for having upset the man.

Stark faltered slightly when he did notice the Soldier’s eyes on him, but he recovered himself and finished his speech with a toast.

“To friends, new and old, and to making 2016 a better year than 2015!”

“And no more killer robots!” Pietro added, drawing a chuckle from most of the assembled, and prompting Stark to flip him off as he stepped down from the stage. The Soldier lost sight of him pretty quickly, despite the crowd being quite small. He assumed Stark had fled him again, until the genius suddenly appeared in front of him, Steve by his side.

“There you are, Bucky. I was beginning to worry.” The Soldier felt a slight urge to snort derisively, but Stark beat him to it.

“You always worry, Rogers. Barnes, I figured you might want these when the fireworks start.” He thrust a pair of foam ear plugs into the Soldier’s hand and scurried off, blatantly uncomfortable under the gaze of the man responsible for his parents’ deaths. The Soldier looked down at the foam ear plugs, touched by Stark’s thoughtfulness. Although he suspected Steve had probably had a hand in it. Or perhaps Sam, who was pretty good at being considerate of things that might make the Soldier uncomfortable. Like the scarf he’d knitted as a Christmas gift for the Soldier, after swapping his Secret Santa specifically, because he guessed that after cryofreeze the Soldier would be not all fond of the cold. Or his response to Steve’s insistence on calling the Soldier-

“Bucky, do you have to be like that?” As usual, the Soldier ignored him, despite his curiosity as to what exactly Steve meant by ‘that’. “I know Stark can be pretty abrasive, but he’s trying Bucky, why can’t you?” That confused the Soldier more, but he stood by his principles of not saying a word until Steve acknowledged that he wasn’t Bucky anymore. For all he knew this was just a new tactic Steve was employing to get him to respond to his old name. He was spared anymore of Steve’s questions by the call to head outside for the countdown and the fireworks. The Soldier inserted his earplugs as they headed out, pulling Sam’s scarf tighter around his neck. He caught Sam’s eye as he did so and quickly signed ‘Thank you,’ at him, unsure of whether he’d expressed his gratitude already. It was a lovely scarf. He quickly located Stark, considering replicating the motion to him, but Stark was not looking, and if past experience was anything to go on, he would try to hide if he noticed the Soldier looking anyway. Privately, in the comfort of his own mind, the Soldier made his New Year’s Resolution: to befriend Stark. Or at least find a way to show Stark he was a different man to the one Hydra used.

_January 16th 1977_

_Winter ignored the biting chill of the snow on the rooftop. He lay completely still as he watched for the target to appear. His eye was glued to the sight, trained on the doorway of the building from which the target could emerge at any moment._

_He had a very small window of opportunity on this assassination, and he was well aware of it. The target’s car was parked right out front, and if he drove off then Winter had failed. But he had to be careful, because if he fired prematurely, without ensuring that the person coming out of the building was the target, there would be no chance of eliminating the target._

_The door burst open suddenly, almost startling the Soldier into firing prematurely. A woman strode angrily through the door, carrying a weeping child in her arms, a bright red scarf wrapped around the boy’s neck. The target followed behind them, his face grim. The Soldier hesitated, and the target disappeared inside the car. The Soldier remained in position for a moment longer, puzzled by his hesitation. As he began to get up, the handler who had accompanied him slammed his gun into the back of his neck, rendering the Soldier semi-conscious. Another blow and he was out cold._

January 12th 2016

The Soldier was making good progress on the ‘official’ part of his New Year’s resolution, which was to lessen the hostility between himself and the Avengers and make friends with them. He had already counted Sam as a friend, and since the start of the New Year he had added Pietro to that category as well. He thought Clint would soon be on the list as well, they seemed to have a good understanding of one another. Around most of the other Avengers he was now slightly more relaxed, no longer tensing when they entered the room. He had even managed brief verbal exchanges with all of them. Except the one he was most desperate to make progress with. He still couldn’t say a word in front of Stark. Couldn’t look anywhere else when he was in the room. And still his stares made Stark uncomfortable enough that he had to flee the room.

At least when Stark fled he could focus on other things again. The Soldier turned his attention back to the TV screen, after watching Stark slip out quietly once more, to find that while he was distracted Pietro had sniped him. Twice.

“C’mon Barnes, get your head in the game. Is a look at Stark’s ass really worth losing our bet?” The Soldier didn’t respond, choosing to make his feelings clear by rapidly firing off two shots, one to Pietro’s balls and the second to the head.

“Two kills isn’t going to win you anything, Maximoff. Not when _that_ is your idea of a good hiding spot.” He emphasised his point with another headshot. Pietro grumbled under his breath, and gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to score enough to come out on top. He might be fast, but at this stage in his recovery he had nowhere near the stamina required to complete three circuits around the facility in a tutu without being seen. Not that the Soldier would have allowed him to get away with such a cowardly escape from the full humiliation of the ridiculous bet he’d concocted.

_January 23rd 1978_

_Winter peered through the falling snow, scanning each face, searching for the target. Scarves were pulled up to cover noses, small clouds forming in front. Hats were pulled low, arms were folded across chests and shoulders hunched forward. Identifying the target was a challenge in this weather. Apparently these people were not used to such cold temperatures. Winter was not bothered in the least, but he mimicked the actions of those around him, bringing gloved hands to his mouth to blow on them, rubbing shoulders vigorously, stamping his feet to loosen the snow caked on the toes of his boots. He needed to blend in, at least until he found his target._

_A figure up ahead caught his eye. Brown hair frosted with snow peeked out from beneath his woollen hat. The thick winter coat with its collar turned up looked expensive, as did the smart shoes not entirely appropriate for the weather poking out beneath the suit trousers. The overall build of the man matched that of the target, and as he turned Winter caught a glimpse of the logo on the side of his briefcase. ‘Stark Industries’._

_Winter increased his pace slightly as he began to pursue his target, adding a shiver to give the pretence of wanting to get out of the cold as explanation for his increased speed. He held back from breaking into a full sprint, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. He kept an eye on the path ahead, wary of ice that could impede him._

_Before long, Winter and the target were alone in the street, having moved away from the main streets. Winter was still a few paces behind the target, but he was slowly gaining. He saw the ice ahead of his target, but the target was not as observant. One foot on the ice, and suddenly the target was on the ground, flat on his bum. Winter began to reach for his knife, seeing his opportunity. He advanced on the fallen target, but an errant memory almost stopped him in his tracks. A weeping child, clutching at his mother’s neck, wearing the exact same red scarf now visible around the target’s neck._

_The Soldier withdrew his hand from his pocket and bent towards the target. A brief flash of fear crossed the target’s face, but the Soldier merely extended a helpful hand. The target grasped it, relief flooding his face, and a hint of embarrassment at his fall. The Soldier pulled him to his feet and helped brush some of the snow from his coat._

_“Thank you, I should really look where I’m going, so kind of you to stop and help.”_

_“Think nothing of it.” The Soldier’s voice sounded strange, hoarse with disuse. Glancing back at the scarf he added, “That’s a lovely scarf.”_

_A smile broke out across the target’s face as he replied, “It’s my son’s, his grandmother knitted it for him. He insisted that I borrow it today.” He began to move on, the Soldier steadying him as he started to slip once more. A nervous laugh escaped his mouth, and he started gushing about his son. Apparently this was a man who disliked silence. A ghost of a smile tugged at the Soldier’s mouth, but he knew he couldn’t linger. There was an alley coming up on the left and he signalled that he intended to head down it, seeing that the target clearly intended to continue down the street. “Oh, of course, don’t let me keep you. Thank you for your help, it was great talking to you.” The man smiled so kindly, the Soldier had to respond._

_“Watch your step, now,” he rasped, trying to convey it in a friendly manner. Then he disappeared into the alley, and once he was sure he was out of sight and earshot he broke into a run. He would be severely punished for this._

February 5th 2016

The Soldier was playing chess with Pietro when the alarm sounded. He ignored it as Pietro was not cleared for duty yet. Pietro glared at the ceiling, having been getting restless recently. But despite having recovered his speed, he still tired too fast to make it through a battle.

The Soldier moved his knight into position, removing Pietro’s bishop from play. Distracted as Pietro was, the Soldier felt tempted to take another move. Seeing that he could move his queen three spaces and win the game, he decide to try it. He made the move, and with a perfectly straight face he said, “Checkmate.”

Pietro’s attention snapped back to the game, scanning the board as he tried to prove the Soldier wrong. A ghost of a smirk crossed the Soldier’s face as he saw Pietro’s eyes flicker between the queen and the knight, before he swore loudly in Sokovian. He glared up at the Soldier, and accused, “You filthy cheater, you moved twice.”

“Always be aware of what your enemy is doing.” The last word had barely left his lips before Pietro launched himself across the board, tackling the Soldier to the ground. The Soldier threw him off and rolled to his feet, tensed for the inevitable second attack. Sure enough, Pietro ran at him, not quite at top speed but fast enough that the Soldier found himself on the ground again, wrestling with the speedster. They continued in this manner until Clint interrupted them.

“Alright, break it up you two.” Glancing at the overturned chess board and scattered pieces, he teased, “Fighting over chess, wow, someone’s a sore loser.”

Pietro glared and snapped, “He cheated. Moved twice while I was distracted.”

“Really? You didn’t see that coming?”

Pietro glared harder. Bitterly he said, “Shouldn’t you be busy Assembling right now?” He got to his feet and joined the Soldier in picking up the scattered chess pieces.

“Cap wants Barnes in on this one.” The Soldier froze. Slowly he straightened and looked straight at Clint.

“Why?”

Clint shrugged. “Don’t ask me, I’m just the messenger. Suit up and meet us in the hanger, ASAP.”

The Soldier’s body followed the instruction with almost no input from his brain, which was busy puzzling over why Steve wanted to take him on this mission. He had never been cleared for duty, never even been assessed, at least that he was aware of. He’d never expressed a wish to join the Avengers, and why would they want him around? He’d tried to kill at least three of them, and he wasn’t exactly on good terms with Stark. Which wasn’t for lack of trying, but every time he and Stark were in the same room he couldn’t help but stare, and the genius never gave him opportunity to say a word. Although the Soldier was rather dubious about his ability to say anything to Stark.

He entered the hanger to find Stark having a heated argument with Steve, Rhodey and Natasha positioned behind him in a show of support for his viewpoint, Sam, Clint and Wanda seeming to back Steve, and Vision and Scott off to the side, staying well out of it. If that was how the team was split, he had no doubt he was the subject of the argument. None of them acknowledged his entrance, too engrossed in the argument, so after a moment of watching Stark he took a breath and tore his eyes away.

“Captain, you sent for me?” Internally he grimaced. He hadn’t sounded so robotic for months. He forced himself to avoid meeting Stark’s gaze, which he could feel fixed on him. If he looked, he wouldn’t be able to look away. Instead, he looked straight at Steve, standing to attention. He saw the flicker of doubt cross Steve’s face, and saw the determination that followed it. Panic flared inside him briefly. Steve was bringing him in because he had no choice. This was serious.

Swallowing, the Soldier forced himself to relax and stepped closer, trying to reassure Steve that he was okay to do this. “What is the mission?” He allowed the grimace to show externally that time, realising how like the Winter Soldier that had sounded and wanting to make it clear he wasn’t meaning to be like that.

“Hydra. Something’s brought all their loose ends together, all the rogue agents, and we’ve found their base. It seems like it could be a trap, but they’re all in one place. And they do have the means to kill a lot of people if we don’t go after them now.”

The Soldier nodded sharply. “What do you need me to do?” He paused briefly, then added, “Besides give them hell.” Steve grinned up at him.

_October 14th 1978_

_He grabbed the guard from behind, clamping his flesh hand over the guard’s mouth and using the metal one to choke him. The struggle was brief, and then Winter lowered the guard to the floor, adding him to the trail of dead and unconscious guards he was leaving throughout the house as he made his way to the targets room. There was one more to be taken care of, and then the target himself._

_Slipping through the shadows, Winter stalked towards the guard. This guard had his back turned for the moment, but he could turn at any moment. Winter approached as close as he could without leaving the shadows. He waited, muscles tensed and knife drawn, ready for that moment when-_

_The guard turned and Winter sprang, disposing of him swiftly and silently._

_As he turned to the room in which he would find his target, he heard a small gasp. Pausing he cast about for the source. A small boy, around eight or nine, peeking through the crack of a slightly open door to the end of the corridor. Realising he had been spotted, the boy vanished, retreating into the safety of his bed._

_Without stopping to consider why he did it, the Soldier sheathed his knife and approached the door. he pushed it open, and heard the sharp intake of breath from the child, who then attempted to feign sleep. The bed covers were in disarray, the child only partially covered in his rush to return to bed. The Soldier approached the bed, stepping softly and listening to the quickening of the boys breath. Reaching out a hand, the Soldier grasped the edge of the cover and paused for a fraction of a second, for the first time questioning his actions. Brushing away the doubt, he pulled the covers over the boy, tucking him in tight._

_Guilt began to gnaw at the Soldier’s insides as he exited the room, returning to the target’s door. The target. The boy’s father. He was about to assassinate this boy’s father. That was his mission, and he never failed a mission… or had he? Distant memories stirred in the recesses of the Soldier’s mind. Before he had time to investigate them, he heard a faint cry from the boys room, and without a thought for the mission he sprinted back to the room._

_One of the handlers was grappling with the boy, who had taken up a book from the shelf to hit his attacker with. The boy had no chance. So the Soldier snapped his handler’s neck. He heard the sounds of the target waking, along with a woman’s voice calling out, “Anthony?”_

_The Soldier dove out the open window, presumably forced so by the handler. Thirteen handlers were dispatched to locate and retrieve him, eventually succeeding after ten days._

February 5th 2016

It happened almost as fast as Pietro could run. One moment the Soldier was staring across the rubble at Stark, who had ditched his armour as the last enemy fell, gasping for breath due to the damage dealt to his chest plate. The next moment a bolt of green light struck Stark in the chest and enveloped him. Eight new opponents charged in from the same direction the bolt had originated, heading straight for the eight year old boy left coughing in the dust where Stark had been stood. An eight year old boy who was oddly familiar to the Soldier…

Without any conscious decision, the Soldier found himself running, sprinting even, charging to meet the attackers. He was faster, but they were closer, so they reached the boy at almost the same time. The child had the sense to duck as the Soldier sprang over his head, dispatching one attacker with a kick to the head as his metal arm grabbed the neck of another, snapping it as he flipped to land on his feet again. He heard Steve shout his name as he stood his ground and flipped the next assailant over his hip, and then the shield flew into view, clouting another enemy hard enough to render him unconscious for some time. The Soldier plucked the shield from the air and used it to smash the next attacker in the face, while his metal fist knocked the wind out of another. As the winded foe dropped to her knees the metal hand grasped her shoulder and used her as leverage to flip the Soldier. As he came down his foot caught the back of the next man’s head, knocking him down as the Soldier landed. The final enemy came to a halt, looked at his comrades, and then joined them on the ground, one of Hawkeye’s arrows protruding from his shoulder.

Ignoring the Avengers as they gathered around, the Soldier turned and crouched, approaching the child slowly, trying not to spook him.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, doing his best to look and sound non-threatening. The child tilted his head to one side, frowning at the Soldier.

“You were in my house.” The Soldier tilted his head, mimicking the child in his confusion. “You knocked out Daddy’s guard then came to my room and tucked me in and then killed the man who came in my window and tried to kill me. Then you ran away.” The Soldier frowned, memories stirring in the back of his mind… then everything clicked into place.

Bucky Barnes smiled at the child, and replied, “Yeah, that was me. Some bad people were makin’ me do things, things I didn’t really wanna do. They wanted your Dad dead, so they sent me in. You saved his life that night.” There were a few noises of surprise from the gathered Avengers at the sudden change in Bucky’s demeanour and accent, but he stayed focussed on the child.

“Were you the one who shot Mommy too? When I was little someone shot at Daddy but it hit Mommy and that’s why I don’t have a little brother or sister.” The relevant memory presented itself immediately, and Bucky nodded slowly.

“Yeah, that was me too. That was the first time they sent me after him. He picked you up and you had this coughin’ fit, reminded me of this little punk I grew up with… I tried not to fire, but I ended up just knocking my aim off. Hit your Mom by accident. I’m… I’m real sorry about that.” He dropped his chin as guilt washed over him. A tiny hand lifted his chin, and he looked up into the boy’s eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. The bad people were making you do it.” Bucky couldn’t help but return the boy’s smile.

“’M still sorry though. I still hurt your Mom, even if it was an accident. And I scared you when I was in your house, when I went in your room. You saw me take down the guard an’ thought I was gonna hurt you, didn’t you?” The boy nodded. “I’d never hurt you, kid.” The boy made a face.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’. My name’s Anthony.” Bucky nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

“Okay Anthony, my name’s Bucky.” He glanced around at the people he’d taken down and at the Avengers stood watching his interaction with Anthony. Turning back to Anthony he said, “We’d better get you out of here, there might be more bad guys around.” He caught Steve’s eye as he finished, and without hesitation Steve switched into full Captain mode, giving orders to his team.

“Alright, Falcon, Hawkeye, make sure there are no more surprises waiting for us. Widow, you and Scarlett Witch get to work detaining the survivors. Vision, Ant-Man, find out what happened to Iron Man. War Machine, help Bucky get Anthony to safety.” He collected his shield from where the Soldier had dropped it, whilst the team scrambled to follow his orders. A quick scan of the terrain told Bucky that Anthony would struggle to reach the jet safely, so he offered the child a piggy-back. Steve looked away to hide his smirk at the sight of the former deadly assassin, in full combat gear, giving a piggyback to an eight year old. Rhodey followed behind, keeping an eye out for any attacks and trying to wrap his head around the fact that his best friend had seemingly been shrunk down to his eight year old self. Anthony squealed with delight as Bucky jumped up and ran across a wrecked vehicle, bouncing the child on his back.

February 7th 2016

Bucky tore his eyes away from where Doctor Cho was doing yet more tests on Anthony, and turned to look at Scott.

“What’ve you got?” he asked.

“Not a lot, this stuff is way out of my bracket. I’m sorry, Bar- Bucky. I don’t know what we can do.”

“Vision’s drawing a blank too?” He ignored the slip up with his name. He just felt glad he’d had them all calling him Barnes and not Soldier.

“He’s got a slightly better understanding than me, but he’s still pretty lost. Ironically, the best qualified person-”

“Is Tony, yeah, I got that.” He turned back to look at Anthony. The poor kid had been subjected to just about every kind of test Doctor Cho could think of since they’d returned to the Avengers facility. He’d been kept in the medical bay, not even released for mealtimes, so Bucky had brought his own meals in to keep the boy company. Anthony was putting on a brave face, but Bucky could tell he was terrified. He didn’t recognise anyone but Bucky, he had no memory of anything since 1978, and he didn’t understand why his parents weren’t around. Bucky had tried to explain, but without a proper understanding himself of what had happened, his explanation didn’t exactly satisfy the boy. Vision and Scott had recovered the device which produced the bolt of green light, and had been working on trying to figure out exactly how it worked, and how to reverse its effects.

Bucky heard Scott’s footsteps retreating, and he released the tension in his shoulders, allowing himself to slump forward. He had been leaning on the window ledge of the little viewing room, which allowed him to see what they were doing with Anthony. They’d kicked him out of the medical bay today, saying he distracted them. He hung his head, resting it against the window. His gaze drifted across to his left hand, focusing in on the logo embossed on the plate. He shifted his weight onto the metal arm and traced the lettering with his fingers. He glanced up at Anthony again, seeing the boy sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his arm. The doctors seemed to have moved away from him, and Bucky guessed they’d finished their test. Or at least, they’d finished with Anthony for this test.

Bucky pushed himself off the ledge, making a snap decision. He strode through, metal fingers forcing the door when the keypad denied him access. The doctors looked up at him, fear in their eyes. Doctor Cho stepped forward.

“Mr Barnes, you shouldn’t be in here,” she began, but Bucky cut her off.

“That’s _Sergeant_ Barnes, Doctor. It’s lunchtime, and after all the work you’ve done this morning, I’m sure Anthony is very hungry. I’m taking him upstairs.” He fixed her with a glare that was eerily reminiscent of his Winter Soldier days, but which had the desired effect of making her back down. He dropped the glare as he turned to Anthony, replacing it with a grin. “C’mon Anthony, let’s go get food. What d’you fancy?”

Anthony grinned back at him and hopped off the bed. “Bacon,” he answered. “Lots of bacon.” He took Bucky’s hand and pulled faces at the doctors as Bucky led him out.

Ten minutes later, Anthony was perched on the kitchen counter, watching Bucky fry the bacon. He kicked his feet against the cupboards and hummed to himself. Bucky smiled as he recognised the tune.

“I heard you singing that one night. You had to keep asking your Mom for the words.” Anthony tilted his head to one side as he looked at Bucky.

“Were you there to kill my Dad?” Bucky winced slightly, and nodded.

“I was waiting for him in an alleyway. He was supposed to be alone – your Mom stopped him heading down there ‘cause it wasn’t safe to take you that way. So I followed you for a few blocks, ‘cause they’d hurt me if I didn’t, and then your Mom’s hat blew off so I caught it and gave it back to her. And then I ran off, tried to get away from the bad guys.” He poked at the bacon in the pan and added, “That a few years afore I broke into your house and took out all the guards. Afore I saved you from the bad guys.” He swallowed. Anthony kicked his feet again, and scraped one heel against the door as he worked up the courage to ask something.

“Did you ever kill my parents? You said… I was grown up but then someone shrunk me, and I lost my memory. Those bad guys… they kept sending you, didn’t they?”  
“Yeah, they did. And yeah, eventually they got me to succeed. Had me shoot your Dad’s car, while he was driving so he crashed. I didn’t see who it was, didn’t remember you until I went to check… Took a lot of the bad men to bring me back in after that. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?” Anthony and Bucky both jumped, not having noticed Steve’s approach. Bucky glanced over his shoulder and nodded at the pan.

“I’m makin’ bacon. S’lunchtime.” He looked away again, hiding his grin at the look on Steve’s face. “Anthony was hungry, and I was sick of watching ‘em doin’ their tests. He’s just a kid Steve, an’ there’s nothin’ wrong with him. He shouldn’t be cooped up in medical.” With a sly grin, still hidden from Steve’s view, he added, “Seem to recall you never much liked it, why should we do it to him?”

“Buck.” There was a grin in Steve’s voice, so Bucky turned properly this time. “Okay, I get busting him out of medical, but did you have to terrify the doctors?” Bucky just grinned, and starting heaping the bacon on a plate.

“Wanna join us Stevie? I might’ve made more’n me and Anthony can eat.” As he turned to put the bacon on the table, Pietro ran in, taking bacon from the pile and putting it on his own plate too fast to see, seeming to just appear against the counter with a plate of bacon.

“Thanks, Barnes,” he grinned, and knocked Anthony’s hand away when the boy tried to sneak some of his bacon. “Hands off, this is my bacon!” Bucky rolled his eyes and began to pass Anthony his own plate of bacon. But Steve intercepted the plate, placing it on the table.

“No Buck, Anthony can come sit at the table to eat.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Bucky mocked, lifting Anthony off the side and pushing him towards a seat. Steve pulled a face in response. But he couldn’t keep the grin from his face for long.

After lunch, Pietro challenged Bucky to some video games, and Bucky accepted on the condition that Anthony could join them. He wasn’t letting the boy out of his sight until he was convinced that the doctors wouldn’t abduct him again.

February 12th 2016

Bucky jolted out of the nightmare, blinking as he looked around in confusion for a moment. When reality reasserted itself he groaned and fell back onto his pillows. He squinted at the clock, grimacing as the time came into focus. 3:08am. He closed his eyes, but the bloody scenes that played out across his eyelids quickly forced them open again. He rolled out of bed, stretching. No more sleep tonight. He pulled some clothes on and stepped out into the corridor. A faint noise reached his ears as he began to pad towards the kitchen, and he stopped, listening intently. He followed the noise, which gradually resolved itself into sobbing. Soon after he realised that, he located the source as Anthony’s room, and he broke into a jog.

He tapped on Anthony’s door, hearing the boy try and stifle his sobs immediately. “Anthony? Anthony, are you okay?” Bucky called out. There was no response, so he said, “Anthony, I’m gonna come in,” and opened the door. Anthony was curled in a ball in the centre of his bed. Tears streamed down his face, and he rubbed at them with his sleeve. Seeing Bucky in the doorway, he stretched his arms out for a hug. Bucky nudged the door shut behind him and hurried over, scooping Anthony into his arms. He sat down on the bed and Anthony scrambled onto his lap, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Bucky cuddled Anthony close as he tried to soothe him. “You’re okay, buddy. What happened? Did you have a nightmare?” Anthony nodded against Bucky’s chest.

“I was in a cave a-and there were b-bad men and th-they h-hurt me. And there was something… wr-wrong with my ch-chest…” He sobbed harder, and Bucky did his best not to flinch as he recognised the situation from the file he’d read on Tony, and how he became Iron Man. So Tony’s memories were in there, somewhere, but Anthony just couldn’t access them. Not while he was awake. Bucky wrapped his arms tight around Anthony and rocked him.

“It’s okay Anthony, you’re safe. No one is going to hurt you, not while I’m around. It was just a dream, that’s never going to happen…” It pained him to lie to Anthony, but he had no other way of calming the boy. And it wasn’t a complete lie… it had already happened to him. Anthony shook against Bucky’s chest, and on impulse he pressed a kiss to the boys head. A voice in his head immediately informed him he’d regret that when they got Tony back, but he pushed it away. Right now he needed to comfort Anthony, and he didn’t really care what Tony or anyone else would think of it. He stood up slightly, lifting Anthony, and repositioned himself so he was sat on the edge of the bed next to the pillows. He gently settled Anthony against the pillows, tucking him in. “You should try and get back to sleep. Do you want me to stay with you.”

Anthony nodded and murmured, “Can you read to me?” He pointed to the Harry Potter book sat on the bedside table.

“Sure.” Bucky picked up the book and curled up next to Anthony, allowing the boy to snuggle up against his side and read with him. He opened the book at the bookmarked page, and nodded. “Okay, good, I’ve already passed this point. Was worried I was gonna spoil it for myself there.” He grinned down at Anthony, and then began to read.

It had been almost an hour when he realised Anthony had fallen asleep against his side, so he closed the book and placed it back on the table. He tried to very gently move Anthony off him and slip out, but Anthony stirred, grasping at his shirt. Sighing, he settled down again, curling an arm around Anthony and eventually drifting off as well.

February 14th 2016

Pietro was entertaining Anthony with some action figures, so Bucky slipped away to talk to Doctor Cho, who was conferring with Scott and Vision.

“Anything?” he asked as he approached.

“We’re all pretty convinced the effect should wear off on its own,” Doctor Cho replied.

“Okay, any idea on a time frame for that? ‘Cause his nightmares have resulted in me ending the last three nights with him curled up next to me, and I don’t really want him to wake up full size again on a night like that.” Scott stifled a snigger, which Bucky ignored. Doctor Cho looked apologetic as she shook her head.

“I’m afraid I can’t say for about that, Sergeant. But if these nightmares are as you believe Tony’s memories leaking through, then they may serve as an indication that he will ah, ‘grow up’ again quite soon. Those first few nights where he was sleeping in the medical bay he had no nightmares.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I asked him and he said he only started having nightmares a few days ago. So you think it’ll be soon then?”

“It does seem likely, but as Doctor Cho has said, we cannot be sure. As yet, this is all just speculation,” Vision replied. “There is still the possibility that something needs to be done by us to trigger the reversal, so I will continue to investigate the device responsible.”

“You’re not going to experiment on him,” Bucky warned, memories of Hydra adding a little more threat to his voice than he intended. Vision nodded.

“Of course. Anthony will not be put at risk.”

“Good. As long as we’re clear on that. I’ll let you get back to work then, thank you for your time.” He headed back upstairs to see Anthony and Pietro. The Sokovian speedster seemed to have forgotten all the animosity he still harboured for Stark, and was doing a great job of playing big brother to little Anthony. Bucky stopped in the doorway, watching as Pietro dashed between the different scenes they’d set out with the action figures, moving the story along while Anthony directed him, occasionally clapping with delight. Bucky leant against the doorway, just enjoying watching them. The New Year’s resolution he’d made about Tony popped into his head, and he smiled at the realisation that he had achieved that goal. And it was still only February. The smile faded when he realised that any day now Anthony could grow up, and Tony would go back to hating him. He sighed quietly, barely audible over the noises Pietro and Anthony were making. Apparently their action figures had just blown up a building.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been stood watching them when Clint appeared at his shoulder.

“Hey Barnes,” the archer murmured, not drawing the attention of those in the room. Bucky turned to face him.

“Hey,” he said softly. Clint frowned at him, picking up on his melancholy. He glanced back into the room and teased softly,

“You’re not jealous of Pietro are you? Pretty sure Anthony prefers you.”

“No, it’s not that… It’s that Tony won’t…”

“Ah,” Clint thought for a moment. “How about we go downstairs, train for a bit? Take your mind off things. I mean, I’m pretty sure I out-sniped you last week, so…”

“You so did not,” Bucky rose to the challenge, glad of the distraction. They headed off together and spent the next three hours challenging each other to various tests of combative competence. They only stopped when Pietro brought Anthony in, the latter crying his eyes out.

“I’ll let you deal with this,” Clint muttered, rolling away from where he had been wrestling Bucky. Pietro put Anthony down on the edge of the mat, allowing him to run straight for Bucky, and headed off with Clint.

Bucky only had time to push himself into a sitting position before Anthony was throwing himself into his arms. “Hey buddy, what’s wrong? You okay?”

“P-Pietro p-put a r-robot into the game, a-and it was fun b-but th-then people w-were getting h-hurt an’ I could h-hear scr-screaming…” He buried his head in Bucky’s chest and on reflex the former assassin hugged him close, shushing him and stroking him while he tried to make sense of what he was saying.

“The screaming, was it in your head?” At Anthony’s nod, he added, “Did you see anything with it?”

“I saw bad things.” There was so much terror in Anthony’s voice that Bucky didn’t press for more details. He could guess what the boy had seen. Ultron, and the battle of Sokovia. He pressed a kiss to Anthony’s head, holding him tight but unsure what to say to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Anthony, you’re okay. You’re safe with me, the-” he hesitated a moment before finishing, “The robot’s not gonna hurt you. It’s gone now, all of it, and it’s not coming back.” Anthony buried his face in Bucky’s chest, his tears soaking Bucky’s shirt. Bucky glanced at the time and said, “Maybe we should go get dinner? Does that sound good? And we can sit on the sofa and watch a movie together.” Anthony nodded slowly.

“No robots.”

“No, no robots,” Bucky laughed, getting to his feet and lifting Anthony up. “What shall we have for dinner then?”

“Pizza?”

“Oh, that sounds like a great idea, buddy. Shall we go ask the others if they want pizza too?” Anthony nodded, so Bucky carried him upstairs and found the rest of the Avengers. They ordered pizza together and settled down in front of the TV.

“So, what are we watching then?” Sam asked, being nearest to the DVDs. He looked over at Bucky for the answer.

“Uh, I think we’re open to suggestions, as long as there’s no robots.” Anthony nodded his agreement, still curled up against Bucky’s chest. There was a bit of discussion amongst the group, eventually settling on Tangled.

Later that night, after Anthony had fallen asleep, Pietro approached Bucky and apologised.

“I didn’t think it would have that affect, it wasn’t even a bad robot.”

“It’s fine, I don’t think anyone could have predicted that. But from what Doctor Cho says, it probably means we’re getting closer to him growing up…” Bucky trailed off, not entirely sure if that was a good thing.

“Do you think he’ll hate us when he grows up?” Pietro asked, sounding almost as worried about the possibility as Bucky felt.

“God, I hope not.”

February 20th 2016

Anthony came into Bucky’s room shortly after midnight, complaining that he couldn’t sleep. Bucky had only just got into bed himself, so he escorted Anthony back to his own room and sat with him, reading some more of Harry Potter. On this occasion, Anthony fell asleep more on the pillow than on Bucky, so Bucky was fully capable of extracting himself. For some reason, he felt compelled to stay in the room anyway, but he pushed that feeling away, and returned to his own bed.

A few hours later, Bucky had still not fallen asleep himself. Cursing himself, he finally gave in to the urge to go check on Anthony. As he approached the door, he heard retching sounds coming from the room’s ensuite. Concerned, he pushed open the bedroom door and called out, “Anthony?” The retching ceased, and he heard the toilet flush and the tap running. But the voice which called out from the bathroom was not that of a child.

“Leave me alone,” came the very hoarse, very much grown up voice of Tony Stark. Bucky swallowed, unsure of what to do. Thank god he hadn’t stayed in the room. He began to leave, but his hesitation had lasted a moment too long, for he’d barely taken a step before the bathroom door opened and he found himself staring at a very naked Tony Stark. He averted his eyes as Tony swore and grabbed a towel to cover himself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’ll just…” Bucky made to out the door, but froze when Tony spoke again.

“I don’t understand.”

Bucky frowned as he glanced back at Stark. “Don’t understand what?”

“You. You said that I stopped you assassinating my Dad, on multiple occasions, and you’ve been looking after me these past couple of weeks… But you hated me before that. You kept glaring at me like you wanted to murder me.”

Bucky was utterly bewildered. “No I didn’t. At first I was trying to figure out why the hell you looked so familiar when you weren’t in any of the memories I could access, and then I just kind of… I dunno, but I never _glared_. And I’ve certainly never wanted to murder you. Where the hell did you get that from?” He racked his brains, trying to figure how he could have ever given the impression that he wanted to murder Tony.

“Every time I saw you, you were just glaring straight at me, like this,” Tony mimicked a rather alarming glare, emotionless and threatening. Bucky blinked in surprise, and frowned. Had he really been looking at Tony like that? He didn’t think he’d looked like that, although… A bark of laughter escaped him as he figured it out. Tony narrowed his eyes, but Bucky shook his head, grinning.

“I kept reverting to full Soldier mode around you, ‘cause that’s who I was all those times I saw you before. That’s why I wasn’t talking, an’ why I looked so mad at you…”

“And why you came over all robotic when Cap called you in on that mission.” A weak smile crossed Tony’s face as he realised what Bucky meant. “But you’re you again now. Be-because of me?” Bucky tilted his head to one side.

“I guess… I mean, seeing you as a little boy again, and you bringin’ up the time I coulda killed you but tucked you in an’ saved your life instead… Coupled with having all my old memories back, and being around Steve and just bein’ looked after recently… That’s what brought me back.” He paused briefly, before asking nervously, “So you don’t – I mean you don’t seem to – do… do you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you? I mean, yeah I was mad at Cap for sneaking you in and having you in my lab, but only ‘cause he did it in secret and I didn’t know if you were still a danger to us. But once you proved that, no absolutely not, I never hated you. Killing my parents wasn’t something you chose to do, and given the number of times you failed, I mean how many was that?”

“All told, somewhere around uh, seventeen failed missions. It took ‘em a while to figure out what was triggering me to go AWOL, especially since sometimes you weren’t even there, he just had something that brought you to mind. Like one time, I failed because he was wearing a scarf I’d seen you wear the last time I tried, or there was one occasion where I stopped because I heard him mention your name on the phone… The last few I just recognised him, and remembered you.”

“Wow, that’s… impressive. And all because I reminded you of – I’m guessing the ‘little punk’ you grew up with was Steve?”

“Yeah, that first time I saw you, you just looked so frail and you were coughin’ so violently… Looked just like Stevie, and then somehow that got burned into my memory, so after that whenever I saw you or remembered you, it broke Hydra’s programming. Helped me be, well not me, but not what they made me either… Somewhere between Winter and Bucky. The Soldier. That’s who you made me into.” It suddenly occurred to Bucky that they were still in the bedroom, which had been spare until they made it up for Anthony, and that Tony was still, no pun intended, stark naked. Bucky blushed slightly and looked away again, and Tony remembered too, blushing furiously and readjusting the towel.

“Uh, so… Did you want something?” Tony asked.

“I was just, uh… couldn’t sleep so I came to check on…” He gestured towards the bed. “But uh, obviously you’re all,” he swallowed as he gestured at Tony, “…again, so… I guess I’ll just…” He turned again, making for the door once more. He had just grasped the handle when Tony called out.

“Wait, Buck…” Bucky looked up, and Tony closed the gap between them swiftly. He took a breath, and then his lips were on Bucky’s. All the feelings about Tony that had confused the Soldier which Bucky had never explored suddenly clicked into place in his mind, and his knees almost gave out beneath him. He tried to follow Tony’s lips as the man pulled away, but Tony tilted his head, forehead pressing against Bucky’s, and smiled at him. “Thanks, for everything…” He gave in to Bucky’s pleading eyes and allowed him another kiss, but once again it ended all too soon for Bucky’s liking. “Goodnight, Sergeant Barnes,” he purred, and Bucky’s knees went so weak he had to grab the door for support. Tony stepped back and shooed Bucky.

“You tease,” breathed Bucky, and received a cheeky smirk in response. Reluctantly he pushed himself away from the door and opened it slightly. “Goodnight, Tony.”


End file.
